Susan Fedor/00-01/Diary Entry14

Entry # 14:
Eerie Echoes of Santana

Monday, March 5, we received the news along with the rest of the nation that Charles "Andy" Williams had killed two and wounded 13 students who were fired upon at random at Santana High School in San Diego, California.

Reading the newspaper accounts, we learned of an undersized student who had been taunted to his limit and boasted to his friends of impending carnage, promising that "I'm really going to do it." Those friends disbelieved -- stoking Andy's resolve to make good his threats. The compelling power of the need to save face, coupled with high school pressures, produced lost, wounded, and ruined lives.

Once again we were chilled as we were on the day, Tuesday, April 20, 1999, with the reports of Columbine. Columbine became another in my freeze frame experiences, one that burned into memory with never-to-be-forgotten recollection of where I was when I heard the news. It was a day that we, as a nation, lost our innocence about schools as sanctuaries. And the tragedies continue with today's report of Williamsport, Pa. We utter silent, continuous prayers, "Not here, please God."

Thus, there is little sense of "business as usual" this week. Our semblance of normalcy has been replaced with a high alert and constant wariness.

I was vigilant and highly visible throughout the week, particularly during class change time. The halls were crowded as usual, and I watched the masses of students mull about, mostly ignoring the published admonitions to "stay to the right." Rolling bookbags tripped up some who were engaged in deep conversation and failed to watch where they were going.

The hubbub had a positive tone familiar to anyone with hall duty experience. My eyes swept the passing scene, looking for anything out of the ordinary, when I saw a girl strike out at a boy, hitting him hard. Quickly, I pulled her aside and asked her if she knew the school rule. Immediately, she replied, "No touching." And I said, "And that includes hitting, right?"

And then came the follow up that is so predictable, "But he hit me first." My response was a familiar refrain, "And whose actions are you responsible for? Only your own." She rolled her eyes at me in unconcealed disdain. To my question about her name, she replied, "Chelsea."

I sent her to my office and told her I would meet there when the halls had cleared. I checked her discipline record on the guidance department computer on my way. One prior infraction was listed, "Disrespect to teacher." There was not the string of transgressions I had expected to find, given the unusually insolent way she had responded to me. Students rarely take this tone with me. They seem to recover their self-control when conversing with the principal. But my title was no deterrent to Chelsea this day.

"He's always picking on me"

When I arrived back at my office, Chelsea was at the table, boiling mad, lips pressed in a straight line, hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair. As we began to talk, she began to cry. What she wanted me to know so desperately was that she felt as though she had been pushed to the limit. That Terry, the boy she hit, had hit her twice as they walked down the hall side by side.

But this was only the beginning of her litany of complaints:

-- He's always picking on me.
-- He calls me white because my mom is white and my dad is black.
-- He hits me.
-- He embarrasses me in front of my friends.
-- No one can make him stop.

Her tears increased as she uttered this last line of hopelessness. I asked her why she thought he could not be stopped. She was resolute in her answer. "Because you cannot be everywhere and he won't." Period. And I thought, maybe it is this acceptance that things will never get better that causes the desperation that leads to the tragedies we are reading about.

At this point, I called Terry to my office to join in the conversation. As Chelsea repeated her charges against him, he seemed truly surprised at the ferocity of her anger and really taken back by her tears. Terry said that, all evidence to the contrary, he thought Chelsea was the neatest girl on the team.
He protested that he had never meant to embarrass her to which Chelsea quickly responded, "Well, then why did you say those things in front of all my friends?" He had no answer.

I ask him to explain his actions to Chelsea. They talk. She relaxes. He continues and does finally convince her that he meant no harm and that his efforts to attract her attention had backfired. He was as clueless as an eleven year old boy can be who wants to catch the admiring eye of a more mature eleven year old girl.

Discipline slips for both students read "detention hall." I call parents. Chelsea's mom is satisfied with the punishment and the assurance that no further trouble is anticipated. When I told her of the disrespect I encountered, she says tiredly, "Me, too. She just started her period. She cries all the time. I'm just hanging on." I know what she means.

I call Terry's mother, who happens to work at the school up the street. It turns out that Terry's father and I worked together a few years ago. When I hang up, I know there will be no repeat of the incidents that lead up to today.

How can anyone know for certain?

Now, I understand that this was not a case with any more that superficial similarities to the one I had been reading about in San Diego. And it's a familiar tale to assistant principals everywhere. But still, how can anyone know for certain the final outcome? In middle school, the difference in the expression of admiration and animosity is not always clear. The ways preadolescents choose to get attention is often indistinguishable from the ways of aggression. What begins as "playing around" (a favorite label) too often ends with potential friendship turning into bitter, although mostly short lived enmity.

Today, I went on the morning news show with the guidance counselors. We talked to the students. Here's what we told them:

-- Do tell an adult
-- Do not judge whether or not a threat is real or just joking around
-- Everyone has responsibility for reporting possible danger
-- Listen to your inner voices
-- You cannot kid around about guns
-- A threat is a threat

I imagine I was one of thousands of principals nationwide giving a similar message. It gave me a sense of sad camaraderie that this would be so.

The vignette of Chelsea and Terry is one that repeats thousands of times in schools across our country every day. There are also thousands of the incidents that can produce an Andy. Thankfully, most do not. But we never know which wounds will not heal or which wounds will leave scars that never go away.

We have no choice but to stop and deal decisively with bullying, name-calling, and ridicule of any sort. There must be at least one adult to trust with the most sacred messages. We must insist our children take care of one another and give them the guidance and support to do so.

Entry # 14: Eerie Echoes of Santana

Entry # 14:
Eerie Echoes of Santana